


Breaking the Ice

by TheGuardian219



Series: To Shatter an Iceman [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Brothers, Caring, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Murder, Mycroft Whump, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:00:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4436444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGuardian219/pseuds/TheGuardian219
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty loves playing games. He gives Sherlock puzzles and watches him dance as Jim steals his brother and plays with him.</p><p>Believed to be dead by everyone, Mycroft struggles to escape and endure another day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It has been two weeks since the death of Mycroft Holmes. His absence has not been felt by the common wealth;after all, they didn't know him. The government is another issue. People upstairs are torn between nearly tearing their hairs out with all the problems and the other was facing it with a stiff upper-lip, too pridedful to admit their dependence to the late genius.

Trust Holmes to make himself  _too_ indespensible, some would think. They were not in the verge of collapse, mind you. Merely adjusting back to the days where they can't rely on the quick wit of their comrade to solve time-sensitive projects.

His absence won't be too noticeable until a few more months.

John himself could not feel any different. 

He should stop lying to himself he though as he mentally shook his head.

He sighed as he made tea. Sherlock has been trying to hunt down leads to whoever kidnapped his brother, Anthea dropped by twice, carrying a classified looking file which he did not dare ask about, Lestrade often to the flat to give a case personally instead of sending a text. 

Not to mention Donovan and Anderson have yet to say 'freak' on their backs during cases.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. If only people stopped getting themselves murdered, that would be lovely.

His flatmate was currently analyzing something in his microscope that John was hesitant to ask about. They've been at cases for longer than ever. Anthea seemed to be providing most of them, either trying to find leads or just relieving Sherlock from boredom. Both of them knew the trouble he would cause.

* * *

It wasn't even lunch before Anthea came to their flat.

"Good morning Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson."

"What do you want?" 

"Good morning."

"I've brought you something." Sherlock raised his head from the pictures he had pinned to the wall and met her eyes.

"Yes. It might be a lead."

John sat straighter and Sherlock gave all his attention to her. 

"Do you know him?"

She presented a picture of a middle-aged man with red hair and a wide smile talking to another man.

"No." he was just another bloke on the street.

"He was found earlier this morning by a pedestrian," she showed another picture. This time the man was lying face-down on the concrete. The detective analyzed the walls and signs, he knew where that was-

"The diogeness." he breathed out.

"Correct. He was found exactly 2:34 am."

"Wait, how does this man hold any connection to whoever kidnapped Mycroft? Getting dumped at his club could just be a coincidence."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow at Anthea. Despite not believing coincidences, John had a point.

"Yes, but upon further inspection, we found that his injuries were similar-if not the same as Mr. Holm-your brother's." there was a brief silence after the small stumble.

"Who was he?" John asked in the hopes of breaking the heartbreaking silence.

Anthea cleared her throat.

"His name is Morris Hart. He worked at a law firm. No family, no relatives. He was reported to be missing approximately four days ago."

It was too much of a coincidence but it was also too to be a clue-

"Is there no other connection?" Sherlock asked as his mind worked rapidly into processing all the data.

"There's another thing. Our system really wouldn't have picked up other than a coincidence but the report was emailed to one of our people." 

She looked down on her ever-present blackberry and pressed a few keys before holding up to Sherlock's view. John's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse.

_Hi :) -JM_

If it wasn't so serious, it would have been so comical. The absolute innocense in those letters contained the madness of one of the most wanted criminal mastermind worldwide.

"Did you confirm that it's really him?"

"We are a hundred percent sure of it."

Sherlock paced around the flat, trying to find a connection. Anthea left hours ago, John had a date and left, Mrs. Hudson is enjoying her herbal soothers. _'I'm missing something!'_

His temper flared as each second passed, he was on the verge of tearing the flat apart.

It was likely that Moriarty was taunting him, insulting him and his brother, even outright mocking him! However, the possibilty of this being a red-herring was not lost ilon the detective. Perhaps Moriarty was playing a game with him, seeing if he could make Sherlock dance with a puzzle as he schemed in the background.

He growled as he flopped down the chair and entered his mind palace. 

* * *

_The library was vast. The high bookshelves gave the impression that they could crush you and drown you. Sherlock tossed books away as he searched._

_The people that Anthea and him were depicted in the pages of books, their file attached to the leather bound books. He could find nothing. He wanted to tear everything to pieces but doing so would delete it from his mind and he can't form conclusions with missing data._

_"Hello, little brother."_

_He spun around and saw Mycroft standing a few deet away. It was the eleven year old brother who helped him with his experiments. Sherlock turned his head away._

_"What are you doing here?"_

_"Trying to help."_

_The light tone and voice reminded him of days gone past and sentiment was working itself unto his heart._

_"Go away."_

_"No."_

_His eye twitched. He can make it go away, it was just a memory. He breathed out and tried to ignore the memory._

_His brother startled him as a book was shoved in front of his nose. He looked up and saw his brother smirking at him._

_He was enjoying this._

_He shook his head as he grabbed the book. It was just a memory, it did not have feelings._

_He glanced inside then shut it quickly, glaring at his brother._

_"I don't need your help. Go away."_

_"My presence here suggests otherwise."_

_He tried to will the memory away but he can't. He doesn't want to._

_"Caring is not an advantage." he mumbled._

_The memory nodded absent-mindedly and as he begun to fade Sherlock heard him say_

_"If you've eliminated the impossible then whatever remains, no matter how imrobable, must be the truth."_

_He swallowed as he watched his brother disappear before picking up the book his brother handed him._

_He began catalouging his brother's injuries and compared him to the victic._

* * *

It has been two weeks since Mycroft has been abducted by Moriarty. He was allowed three days of rest before he was yet again bound to a chair. The first week, he was left alone. In the darkness where he heard no sound and saw no light. He had no means of nutrition except for the bread that someone force feeds him and the water being forced down his throat in conplete darkness.

He was hardly keeping hold with the last tendtrils of his sanity. 

He tried finding a way out but with nothing to work on, his mind tortured him with images of Moriarty and his men.

The eight day was when they finally turned the lights on and it was a blessing as much as it was a curse. The real torture began again.

He had more clues to work on though, there were no windows on his cell, the only source of light is the fluorescent lamp above his head. There was a table in front of him, the chair he was occupying was bolted to the floor. The door had a little window and there were always two guards guarding it.

He can't make out more due to the haziness in his mind.

They were back to punching him it seems. There were no signs of Moriarty and Moran, which is good. They obviously wanted to make this as lomg as possible, the curs in his arms could testify to that.

Apparently some minion had the humor to make small cuts on his biceps and shoulders with a scalpel then after playing with the silver tool, proceeded to pour rubbing alchohol on them. It stung- it burned.

The rag on his mouth helped him to bite back the scream. 

Everyday brought new games with it. Mycroft was trying his hardest everyday hoping for someone to come, knowing in the back of his head that no one will.

They all thought him to be dead, no one would rescue a deadman. The only escape available was his death and it won't come for him this early in the game, so he slipped away to a temporary escape. He went to his mind palace.

 


	2. THIS IS NOT AN UPDATE!

First of all, sorry for getting your hope up that I have properly updated this fic. 

I'm gonna be honest with you guys, this fic was born after a violent assault of feels somewhere between season 3 and TAB. I made a brief outline of the story, I made and re-made the timeline(I made a time-table people!) and it was all lost when my phone broke. I kinda lost interest in it, it being a spur of the moment theraphy session for my feels. I wasn'texpecting the level offeedback it got and how many of you wanted me to continue it.,

Anyway due to many coments asking and begging for an update, I decided to re-read this and boy was I in for a ride. Suffice to say that I cringed HARD! Remember the timeline I mentioned, past me surely didn't! Plot holes were everyhere. Plotholes were big enough to swallow me whole!( Maybe that's where I was hiding...)

Bottomline is, I've begun rewriting it and I'm still not quite sure if I'd rewrite everything. A rough plot is in place and it may clash with something I didn't thought about earlier so...we'll see. I won't stray far from what the originl was supposed to go to but hopefully my writing hs improved somewhat and you won't get too annoyed at the lack of proper update schedule.

I won't be deleting the old ones, let's make it a memorial for my cringe-worthy fics.

Anyway, this is getting long. School has just started for me but I'll do my best to write everyday. It's not much but expect a new chapter(?) next week. Please forgive me and don't lock me in Sherrinford!

 


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